


Who Doesn't Love a Man in Uniform

by not_who_we_are



Series: Fandom Letters to Penthouse [4]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Elevator Sex, M/M, Military Uniforms, Oral Sex, POV First Person, PWP, Sassy Tony, Tony is in awe of Steve, Tony's POV, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 12:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_who_we_are/pseuds/not_who_we_are
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony loves a man in uniform. Thankfully Steve is usually wearing one.<br/>Here Tony explores his kink in an elevator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Doesn't Love a Man in Uniform

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Koona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koona/gifts).



> Part of the "Fandom Letters to Penthouse" series. Here's a brief rundown if you aren't familiar with Penthouse Letters:  
> They are basically first person tales of sexual exploits sent in by readers of Penthouse Magazine (so they say...). They're often ridiculous and goofy. They're pretty short and to the point. And they are usually sort of kinky. 
> 
> [This](http://www.flickr.com/photos/premium-format/5936095318/in/photostream/) is my Steve inspiration pic

I’ve always had a thing for men in uniform. It probably has something to do with my daddy issues… or my issues with authority… Whatever, I have a lot of issues. Sue me. That’s not the point though. The point is this: the guy I’m fucking always wears a uniform, or a costume, or… something. I’m digressing again. I mean, it’s spangly and patriotic and really blue. But it’s also skin-tight, so I’m a fan. Long story short, he looks fucking hot in it. The way it hugs his ass and defines his insanely well-muscled arms; it’s a fucking work of art. Bless the man that designed that spandex flag suit!

Honestly, it was my favorite thing to see him in. Until he started wearing his old Army uniform. Actually, I don’t think it was _his_ uniform per se, I mean, unless he dug it out of storage, or something. Come to think of it, it was probably something he asked one of the agents to round up for him. He’s always doing that; always reaching out to grab hold of his past. Again, it doesn’t _actually_ matter and if I try to explain why this guy is wearing military regalia from the 1940s this all becomes needlessly complicated and blah blah blah. So! What’s really important here is the fact that a 6 foot tall Adonis is traipsing around in a chocolate brown dress uniform. In front of me. Like that’s an OK thing to do. Let me tell you: it isn’t. Not unless he’s looking to get fucked senseless. 

Sure, for him it’s all innocent. He wears the thing to events like openings and awards dinners and other boring things people who save the world have to attend. I think it must make him feel more comfortable than running around in a tux. And it’s not like he didn’t earn it. The “captain” in his title ain’t just for show, folks. But this fucking thing is obscene. If the blue one-piece accentuates his ass, then this thing is like shoulder porn. The perfectly tailored jacket makes him look like a linebacker. And it’s got this little belt thing. I dunno why. Who has little belt things attached to their jackets? I suppose it was a different time… Right right right right, let me get back on track. This uniform is unfair. Let me paint you a picture with words because I feel like something might be getting lost here. For your consideration: 

A man with ice-blue eyes that run deeper than any ocean I’ve seen. Skin so soft and pale that it’s almost translucent and seems to be bathed in perpetual moonlight. His hair isn’t light enough to be blond, but not dark enough to be a true brunette. It’s almost sandy, and it’s always parted sharply to the left. His jaw is square and strong and he smells like lavender. And even though he seems to be comprised of pure muscle, his embrace is warm and inviting… And he’s built like a Greek god for christsakes. That’s enough of that sappy shit. The man looks like he’s carved out of marble. You could crack a walnut with his ass and he’s perfectly capable of whipping me around the room. (And I’m perfectly willing.)

And then this specimen slithers into a dress uniform and lets his hand settle gently on my lower back, close enough so I can smell him, and he expects me to behave? I think I’ve made my uniform kink pretty clear. All the consequences of his actions rest squarely on his perfectly sculpted shoulders. 

Here’s something else about my Captain: he’s a little prudish. OK, that’s not fair. He’s reserved? Sure, that’ll work. And it’s not like the sex is boring… just… tame. Which I can deal with even though I’m the first guy to hop in the sex swing and this is the antithesis of what I’m used to. But if I must suffer vanilla sex almost completely devoid of hair pulling and dirty talk, I will. Because that ass. But this night, the night where he never seems to be without a glass of champagne, and his hand keeps resting just above my equally impressive posterior, and that jacket with all its pins and medals keeps taunting me, this night is the night I want to tell you about. This night, while not unusual for a man of my prowess, was fucking monumental for the good soldier. 

I’m a sociable guy, but after about 15 glasses of bubbly and 2 hours eye fucking my buddy, midnight makes me feel like I’m about to turn into a pumpkin. So I grab my Captain and haul him towards the nearest exit. He’s so quaint and polite and he’s still waving and mumbling his goodbyes even as my hand slides under his coattails and into his pants. He’s a little clumsy as he tries to push my hands away, and I’m really persistent, so he isn’t successful and as I slam him into the elevator his body betrays his stony expression. His dick is hard and it’s jabbing into my hip. The next natural step is to grind against him violently as the doors slide shut behind us. This earns me a throaty moan, which is as loud as this guy usually gets. It’s all the encouragement I need as I roll my hips again and let my hands forcefully grip is lapels. The thick fabric is almost scratchy as I dig my fingers in. The texture is intoxicating in how foreign it feels. It’s actually sort of eerie how well the uniform matches its owner.

All I want to do is bury my face in the rough material; in the trousers made out of this material. But first I sweep my tongue across his lips in a teasing kiss that elicits another soft groan. I lick across his lips over and over until he shoves his tongue into my mouth. It’s like a game. I love to make him take control. And he does because he practically crawls inside my mouth. The Captain is panting and arching and letting out little gaps of breath all while I palm his cock through those wondrous pants. My free hand travels up to his face and for a moment I cup his cheek and gently trail my thumb across the smooth, warm skin. Then I yank his hair. Hard. I’ll never forget the sound that followed. It’s a guttural rumble that reverberates in my mouth. I would have loved to hear it echo off the walls of the elevator. I pull again, doing my best to ruin the clean part and displace the strands. 

It’s around this point that I realize I’m not getting out of this elevator until I’ve swallowed some come. So I bash my palm again the bright red “Stop” button and the slowly descending box comes to a standstill. The Captain barely notices. He’s breathing hard and thrusting into my hand, which is still steadily rubbing the clothed bulge. His soft pink lips quiver as if searching for the ghosts of kisses past. But I’m already on my knees yanking the trousers open. Not down, just open. 

I’m face to face with his perfect cock that juts out straight as an arrow, and all I can do is run my hands along the fabric clinging to his legs. The mix of the outdated textiles and the tightly wound muscle underneath makes me feel more drunk than I actually am. My head is spinning and I press my face into his thigh, relishing in the heat and pull of the fabric against my stubble. Then in one swift motion I swallow him down. 

I let the head tickle the back of my throat just because I know the sound it will garner. I must say, I’m nothing short of elated when the usual muffled moan is replaced with a gruff howl. So I do it again, my lips reaching the base of his length. And again I am rewarded with a sound close to a bellow. If not for the hands feverishly fisting my tux, I would have thought the man was in some horrific pain. His cock twitches as I run my tongue along the base in unison with my hands which are unceasing in their journey over the fabric laid out before them. 

The hem of his jacket almost covers the top of my head. It ruffles my hair every time I drag myself up and down his dick. I’m a vain man, and I’m acutely aware of what a mess I’ll be once the doors finally creep open. But I don’t care because I’m on my knees in front of a living legend, medals pinned to his chest and shoes shined to perfection, and I feel like I could come just basking in his regal glow. 

I hook my thumbs through his jacket belt thing and increase my speed from slow drags to frantic bobbing. I can feel his body stiffen and his cock is even harder then before. The liquid that dribbles out is almost sweet as I swirl my tongue over the head to collect every drop. He’s ready to come, and for a split second I consider how pissed he’ll get if any of it escapes onto his classy duds. It has to be dry clean only, right? 

In anticipation I lock my lips tightly around the head and suck, hard. I let my fingers dance lightly over the fabric. It’s like I can feel the weave under my feather-light touch. Just as he’s about to finish, I open my eyes and gaze up at the Captain. His face is flushed and his hair has been successfully ruined. His soft, rosy lips are parted by a continuous series of gasps and groans. His hands scrabble up and down the elevator walls helplessly. And his eyes are screwed shut hiding his cool, sometimes playful gaze. But that uniform. That uniform speaks volumes even when the man wearing it is writhing in unhindered pleasure. It's of a bygone era, but the authority and power it commands is palpable. And the man wearing it is perhaps the most deserving soul I’ve ever seen. 

Ugh. I’m not ending this on a lovey-dovey, syrupy sweet, cavity inducing note. That’d be wrong. So after I swallowed his entire load and devilishly licked my lips, I started the elevator back up. 

We coasted down to the lobby, silently adjusting our attire and smoothing our hair. I grabbed his hand and yanked him towards the car. When we got home I stripped him naked and we fucked like howler monkeys. It was as transcendent as always, but nothing will ever match that elevator ride. In fact, it still makes the Captain blush.—A.E.S., NYC


End file.
